


Birthdays and Memories

by HiddenTohru



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-08
Updated: 2010-09-08
Packaged: 2017-10-11 14:22:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenTohru/pseuds/HiddenTohru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the outskirts of the Brecilian forest, Laeti thinks about her upcoming birthday and how far she's come since she left her clan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Laeti

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in February 2010.

Laeti sighed as she sat down next to the fire. She was saddened by what had happened with the Dalish, but even more she was saddened by how much it reminded her of home. The small things, like how Varathorn talked to his apprentice, the hunters practicing with their bows, Cammen and Gheyna and Lanaya and... It was too much, She buried her face in her arms, angry with herself for feeling so distraught over this. If she had tears, she should keep them for Zathrian and his fate, but she could not help but remember her own clan.

She raised her head and gazed balefully into the fire again. In three days time, she would be 22. It had been about eight months since they had found that cursed mirror and she had left with Duncan. She remembered how birthdays had been spent with her clan. Wherever they were, they would stop and celebrate. There would be a bonfire, and dancing, and music, and Ashalle would bake her favorite tart, and Keeper Marethari would congratulate her on another year, and there would be teasing about when she was settling down with someone (she felt a stab of pain at the unwanted reminder of Tamlen, but pushed it away before it could poison her thoughts further) and Paivel would recite a tale. She sighed again as she rested her chin on her forearm. None of that would happen again. For better or worse, she was a Grey Warden now, and she would never spend another birthday dancing or eating tarts. As kind as Lanaya's clan had been to her, she could not ask them to do that. They were not her clan, and they had just lost their Keeper of centuries, and others besides. It was not their place to help her celebrate.

Alistair had just finished setting up the last tent when he realized Laeti wasn't helping Wynne with dinner as usual. He glanced over by the fire and saw immediately that something was wrong. Setting down the peg mallet, he rubbed the sweat off his forehead and headed over to the fire.

Laeti looked up as Alistair sat down next to her. "Copper for your thoughts?" He smiled at her, trying to be lighthearted, but she just shook her head.

"My thoughts aren't worth even that." She picked up a stick and poked at the fire, making it flare up briefly.

He put an arm around her, casually, still unsure how much affection he should show, but was rewarded by her leaning into his side and resting her head on his shoulder. "Come on, something's wrong, I can tell. If you can't tell your fellow Grey Warden, who can you trust?"

She tried to smile at his joke, but it didn't really get past the thought. "It's almost my birthday. I was just thinking about my clan. I miss them."

Alistair started and stared down at her. "Your birthday? You didn't tell me! I, I would've gotten you something!" His face looked so tragic that she almost laughed, but she bit her lip and shook her head instead.

"You don't have to do anything for me, Alistair. Anyway, we should focus on this Blight, not some silly day that doesn't really mean anything. It's three days away, and at that point we could be in Redcliffe, on our way to Orzammar, or who knows where else? Our mission is too important." She looked down at the ground again. "It doesn't matter. I'm just being silly."

Alistair opened his mouth to refute this statement, but was distracted by a sudden idea. They were only camped just outside the Dalish camp, and they'd promised to go say goodbye the following morning and arrange for the meeting place of the Dalish troops once they were ready. Perhaps if he could grab a moment with their Keeper, he could do something after all. With that in mind, he settled for rubbing her shoulder and kissing the top of her head, and they sat in companionable silence until Wynne called time for supper.

\---------------------------

Laeti had all but forgotten her childish sulking over her birthday three days after they'd left the Dalish. They had met several groups of darkspawn on the road, and were behind on their time to Orzammar. She honestly had no idea what to expect once they got there, and half considered just going back to Redcliffe and declaring themselves ready now, but she knew they would need the additional forces once the Archdemon appeared. Still, the anticipation made her tense. When they settled for camp that night, she welcomed the suggestion Leliana made of washing in a nearby stream (she was accustomed to going days without a bath by now, but being used to something seldom made it pleasant). She reveled in the feel of cool water running through her hair, and the pleasant feeling of skin tingling after being scrubbed clean.

When she finally dressed to return to camp, hair still damp and dressed in her spare clothes (which were unarmored but blessedly clean), she was shocked to find the campground transformed. There was a bonfire, several times larger than their usual small cookfire, and two of the tents had been rigged to look something like an aravel, if she turned her head and squinted. She smelled something delicious cooking, and her mouth fell open as she heard the beginning strains of a Dalish song being played on Leliana's lute.

She felt tears spring to her eyes as Wynne walked out of the aravel-tent with a hot berry tart bubbling over with juices. She couldn't speak, but she managed to stammer out, "H-How?"

Wynne shrugged as she set the tart on a tree stump to cool. "I'm afraid it isn't my doing, child, although I did help this dessert along with a little magic." She gestured over behind the elven woman, and Laeti spun around to see Leliana and Zevran both coming out of the woods, playing and dancing respectively. Alistair followed them, dressed in plain clothes, and she ran to him and hugged him so tightly he nearly choked.

When she released him, finally, he smiled down at her and nodded over toward the bonfire, where Morrigan and Sten and even Wiggles had gathered. They didn't look as happy as her other companions (Leliana and Zevran were still frolicking like children, with Wynne looking on indugently), but there was something approaching tolerance in their faces. She laughed, then, a golden sound that made him feel happier than he had since the day she first told him her heart belonged to him.

"Why did you do this? I told you it didn't matter. I was being silly." Her smile made her words into lies, but he answered anyway.

"Because you've given so much up for this. You've worked so hard, and I know you'll keep working hard to stop this Blight, and I thought you deserved to be happy. Anyway, we all deserve a bit of a break, I think. It's only for tonight."

She shook her head in wonder as she glanced over at the campfire again. "How did you know? I mean, the tent, the music, the dancing, even the berry tart... How did you know?"

He shrugged and grinned. "I asked Lanaya. She seemed like the most logical source, considering your own clan wasn't at hand. She told me the traditions most of the clans have. I guess I got it right, I was a bit worried about that."

She shook her head again, then took his hand and dragged him over to where the others were waiting. He followed, laughing like a boy.

\-------------------------

Many hours later, after the fire had begun to die down a bit and all the food was gone and Laeti's feet ached from dancing, after Leliana and Zevran had told some stories that made her laugh, Sten and Wiggles had gone out for the first watch, and the others had retreated back to their tents, she leaned against Alistair again. He stroked her hair gently and she felt almost tired enough to fall asleep in his embrace, but first she had to say something.

She pulled away a little, so she could look into his eyes more easily. "Alistair. I forgot to say thank you, earlier. This has been... wonderful."

He smiled and stroked her cheek with one hand. "You're welcome. I'm glad I managed to get it right, I was really worried I'd screw up and offend you somehow."

She took his hand and kissed it, slowly, before replacing it on her cheek and covering it with her own. "No, of course not. But I don't mean just tonight. I mean, for everything. For being with me from the beginning, for helping me so much all the time. You're the best birthday present I could ever receive."

Alistair looked uncertain for a moment. "I... I don't know what to say. I feel like I'm lucky I met you." He kissed her, then, sweet and slow. As their lips parted, he whispered, "I've told you I love you, right?"

She giggled and put her arms around his neck. "Almost every day for the past two months, but that doesn't mean I don't want to hear it again." She kissed him again, and this time when it was done they stood and headed for the tent-aravel, still holding hands.

 


	2. Joran

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the outskirts of the Brecilian forest, Joran thinks about his upcoming birthday and how long it's been since he's seen his home.

Joran sighed heavily as he sat down near the fire. They were camped on the outskirts of the Brecilian forest, within a mile of the Dalish camp, but not near enough to the activity there. He had insisted on that, when they'd made camp, as their cold disdain for a "flat ear" made him feel about two inches tall, and he didn't want to feel any worse right now. It was bad enough being treated like a lower animal by humans, but being treated that way by other elves was like a slap in the face.

He stared into the fire, not noticing the others finishing up the camp chores around him. And to think, tomorrow morning he would be 22 years old. Nearly seven months had passed since he had been forced to flee Denerim in Duncan's company, and his path had turned to defeating the Blight. Alistair had been a true friend, but he didn't expect the ex-Templar to understand his sadness. Not that birthdays had always been a happy event in the Alienage, but Adala had always made sure he had at least one present, even if it was just a hand-carved statuette or a hot sticky bun fresh from the baker's. Shianni would give him a hug and a punch, and he would get jokes and compliments from everyone all day about what a fine man he was becoming, or how tall he was getting, or something else. Even in the lean years, he could always expect a kind smile or two from the elders and other children. At least he had been at home, among friends. If anyone had told him a year ago that he'd spend his next birthday being looked down upon by snooty Dalish, he'd have laughed in their face. Not that he was in the mood to do any laughing right now. He sighed again and leaned forward toward the fire, trying to drive a little of the chill off that seemed to be permanently settled in his bones.

Zevran paused as he gathered the ingredients for that night's meal and looked over at his lover's spot near the fire. For some reason Joran was looking sad, and that would never do. He set the root in his hand down and went over to the fire.

He was so deep in his musings about his father's stew that Joran jumped when he felt a light hand on his shoulder. He looked up guiltily and attempted a smile for Zevran, but it came out as more of a grimace.

"Ah, my Grey Warden, you look so tense. Perhaps our recently met friends are to blame?" He kneeled behind the other man and began rubbing his shoulders expertly, seeking out each knot and eradicating it with ruthless precision.

Joran groaned in appreciation. "Oh Zev, that feels really good. They aren't entirely at fault. I've had something else on my mind today, but I have to admit their attitude isn't helping my mood any. It's not like it's my fault I was born and raised in an Alienage." He leaned back slightly and caught one of his lover's hands as it traveled up to his neck.

Zevran tensed for a moment, then relaxed as Joran brushed his cheek against the captive hand. "What is on your mind? Perhaps I can offer some distraction from it." He purred as he leaned closer, letting his breath tickle the Warden's ear.

Joran blushed and abruptly dropped his hand as it were hot. "I, well, I... I mean, it's..." He sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I was just thinking about home. Not that it's my home anymore. Or ever could be again, after everything we've seen and done."

The tanned elf slid down to a sitting position next to his companion and looked him in the eyes. "Something is obviously on your mind, _amore_. Tell me what's wrong, or I will be forced to get it out of you another way." He grinned, playfully, but his eyes hinted at a bit of sternness behind it.

The Grey Warden gave up. "It's... Tomorrow's my birthday." He looked away. "I know it's a stupid thing to be sad about, with the Blight and the things happening with the Dalish and everything else. I just... I miss my family. My father, and Shianni and Soris, and the Hahren, and everything. This was one of the few times I ever felt even a little bit special, and it was because they worked so hard to make me feel so. I just miss that."

Zevran blinked. He struggled to remember a time when anyone had made any kind of effort to make his birthday special, or indeed the last time he'd told anyone when it was. Still, that did not help the task at hand, which was to comfort his Warden.

Joran looked back at the other man and blushed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned anything. It's not important anyway. Tomorrow we'll be going into the forest first thing, it's not like I expect anything." He moved as if to stand, but found he couldn't without throwing Zevran's hand off his arm, so he stopped.

The blonde elf smirked slightly as a delightful idea entered his head. "Well, perhaps we can't do anything tomorrow, my Grey Warden, but we could celebrate a little tonight." He chuckled at the blank look Joran gave him, and stood up smoothly, after caressing his arm one last time. "Come to my tent in thirty minutes, I will have something for you there."

Joran started as if to protest, but Zevran shook his finger and walked away, swaying in that delightful way that made Joran forget what he was doing. By the time he returned to a thinking state, the other elf had disappeared into his tent, and he gulped, trying to imagine what might be in store for him there.

\-----------------------------

Joran had counted each minute under his breath, largely ignoring the indifferent meal Alistair had prepared (after loudly commenting that it was someone else's job, then rolling his eyes and doing it anyway), and when half an hour had passed he counted another few minutes just to make sure. Finally, he headed for Zevran's tent, nodding a good night to Alistair and Wynne, who had the first watch.

He paused for a moment outside the tent, to steady his nerves, then pulled the tent flap aside just enough to slip inside. There was one candle burning inside, but his attention was immediately caught by the sight of bare golden skin, liberally decorated with numerous tattoos in various patterns.

Zevran lounged in the middle of the tent, wearing absolutely nothing but a lazy smile and a bright green ribbon wrapped around his chest and tied in a large bow. "Happy birthday, my Grey Warden." He purred the words in his throat, like a large cat, and Joran felt his jaw drop.

Before he could do more than take note of this, however, the other man was moving and before he knew it, he was pulled down to the floor of the tent. He landed on soft pillows and had the impression of a hand behind his head just before his mouth was invaded by a soft tongue and the taste of Zevran, a heady mixture of Antivan wine and oiled leather. He gasped against the invasion, but it was gone before he could do more. He felt hot breath on his neck as the assassin began removing his light armor, and he fumbled to help, but they were gone before he could do more than reach. He gasped again as Zevran began traveling downward, laying hot kisses on his body as he went, stoking the fire that seemed to burn inside him. He writhed and moaned as his lover found his goal and took Joran into his mouth, stroking with teeth and lips and tongue until Joran felt white hot and trembly with anticipation. Zevran pulled away suddenly, leaving Joran shivering, even more when he saw how serious the other elf's face was. He watched the other man pull out a vial silently and prepare them both with long fingers. Before he was quite ready, however, the blond elf was on top of him again, and he moaned again as he felt deft fingers penetrating him gently, first alone and then with added moisture and ease. He tangled his hand in blond hair and forced his lover's head down to meet his as he was entered. He gasped garbled words as their lips met, forgetting even what he meant or why it was important to speak, as the feelings in him rose to a peak and he arched his back, crying out in ecstasy as he came, digging his fingers into that golden skin and feeling his lover inside him, the rhythm slowing as he followed and cried out his own sweet pleasure. Then there was silence.

A few moments later, as Zevran began to withdraw, Joran caught at the green ribbon, which had been knocked askew in their frenzied lovemaking. "Wait. I... thank you."

Zevran grinned. "You're welcome, my Warden. I know it isn't what you're accustomed to, but I hope it was a fitting birthday gift."

Joran played with one of the ribbons tails. "No, not really." There was a shadow of a doubt in his lover's eyes, or perhaps it was simply the candlelight, but he quickly continued. "It was better."

The former Crow smiled then, a real smile, but it was gone before Joran could be sure he'd seen it. "Ah, well, perhaps I should get ready for my Watch, then. No rest for the wicked, after all." He quickly threw on his armor padding and exited the tent before Joran could say anything else, discarding the green ribbon as he went.

Joran sighed at the hasty departure, but there was nothing to be done. After a moment, he leaned over and gathered up the green ribbon, rolling it into a loop and stashing it among his armor. He laid back among the pillows and whispered, "Happy Birthday, Joran." As he drifted off to sleep, he imagined a gentle kiss laid on his forehead.

 


End file.
